


The Men in Grey Suits

by Kainosite



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Beer, Conference, Gen, Plotting, Thatcherites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 14:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3124109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kainosite/pseuds/Kainosite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John would like to enjoy his beer, and his retirement, in peace.  Hezza has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Men in Grey Suits

“Congratulations. You are no longer the worst Tory Prime Minister since Chamberlain.”

John took another sip of his beer. It was quite nice, velvety smooth with a rich flavor, a full body and a subtle, tangy aftertaste. He contemplated the glass for a moment, then carefully set it down on the table and smiled at the man who’d accosted him.

“Hello. It’s nice to see you too, Michael. Do sit down.”

Michael sat. Then he stole John’s beer and took a large swig.

“Not bad. A bit too fruity.”

“Please, don’t force yourself to drink the rest of it,” John said, taking it back from him. “I wasn’t expecting you at Conference this year.”

Michael waved a hand dismissively. “Thought I should put in an appearance. You know I’m doing that report for Osborne about how he has no growth strategy.”

“What are you going to say?”

Michael gave him a look from beneath furrowed brows that suggested this was the stupidest question he had ever heard in his life. It was probably a sign of encroaching senility that the familiar expression filled John with a warm sense of nostalgia. 

“That he hasn’t got a growth strategy.”

“Ah.” John had to look down to hide his smile. He pretended to be very interested in the foam on the side of his glass.

“Saw your testimony at Leveson,” Michael said, reaching for his beer again. John considered the prospect of a tug-of-war and decided it would be easier to let him take it. That was probably a metaphor for something or other.

“Did you now?”

“You were a man among boys,” said Michael after downing another inch of John’s beer. John looked up, startled, into the same blunt features he’d seen scowling across the Cabinet table at him through the whole of his disastrous premiership. They were crowned with platinum now instead of gold, but the mind behind them was as sharp as ever and so was the tongue. Michael Heseltine was not a nice man, and he had never been nice to John, not even when John was the most powerful man in Britain and had Cabinet appointments in his gift. His praise was vanishingly rare, and when it came it was always sincere.

John was lost for words. Fortunately, lulls in the conversation were another rarity when Michael was around.

“The party is in trouble,” he announced without further preamble.

This was both self-evident and beyond their power to mend. John gave a little shrug and took back his beer. It really was very good, and there was much less of it than there had been when Michael sat down.

Michael glowered at him some more. “If you’ve written what you feel you need to on the subject of circuses, you might consider turning your attention back to a more important arena.”

“Perhaps I could write the Government a report about how they have no direction on Europe. They could file it next to yours, in the bin,” John said dryly. He _was_ a nice man, but after twenty years of frontline politics he wasn’t a naive one.

“Not quite what I had in mind.”

“And what did you have in mind?”

“A loyal opposition.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Michael. There’s nothing more embarrassing or counterproductive than washed-up prime ministers wandering around Westminster attempting to instruct their successors. Half the reason the party is _in_ this mess is that a certain person could not accept her retirement with dignity.”

“Not what I had in mind either.” Michael leaned forward. It was, after all, a good thing that John had allowed him to take his drink without a struggle, or he would have put his elbows in a big puddle of spilled beer. “Cameron and his whole wretched generation are callow. Put them in front of a camera next to a real person and it shows. I could see it at Leveson. If we can produce a statesman by 2015, I reckon we can take back the party and save ourselves from another thirteen years of Labour.”

“When I think of Boris Johnson, ‘statesmanlike’ is not the first word that springs to mind.”

“I didn’t mean sodding _Boris_ , you idiot.” Michael leaned back and gave the table an emphatic thump with the palm of his hand, and John had to make a frantic grab for his glass before it spilled. He took a sip to rescue it and found Michael watching him with the old devil-may-care grin.

“It’s high time the Tory Reform Group found ourselves a _Maggie_.”


End file.
